falling
by Cassima
Summary: Songfic: "Moon Revenge". Chichiri is the last... shounen ai.


Falling Falling by [Cassima][1]

Disclaimer: Ha ha ha no.  
  
Summary: Chichiri remembers.  
  
Rating: R for some sexual imagery and a curse word or two. If the Tasuki x Chichiri pairing bothers you, you're really reading the wrong fic.  
  
Author Note: Not strictly in chronological order, because Chichiri is not thinking clearly. You'll see.  
  
Songfic Warning! Used song "Moon Revenge" from the Sailor Moon R movie. Know you're not supposed to do that. I apologize.  
_ (NOTE: the song excerpts go with the passages they follow. The passages do not follow the song excerpts they exemplify. Thank you.)  
_   
Yaoi Alert! Slashed the boys. Know it's considered "passé". I apologize.  
  
Death Alert! Killed one of the boys. Know I'm not supposed to do that. Forgive me.  
  
Written in 3 hours! Not beta-ed! Know I'm not supposed to do that. I apologize.  
  


_ I started out with nothing and still have most of it left._

  
  
Chichiri was glad for the clouds. Not only did they keep the sun off his face--so many years with the mask had lent him a definite weakness to the sun--but they also fit his mood quite nicely. Plus, it was nice to be able to look over the canyon without squinting.  
  
He could still remember his final farewells in that dark cave on the sea side; Tasuki's face had looked so serene in those last moments, and Chichiri suddenly realized he had wasted his life; why hadn't he simply surrendered to love? Why hadn't he acknowledged his lust in the first place, instead of stuffing it back behind so many shields? If only...  
  
He knew the bandits had expected him to start crying, especially Kouji. He was rather surprised at his own dry face, but really, what was there to cry about? He had missed his chance, and once more he was alone, one monk against the world. One versus many. One lonely number.   
  
The last.  
  
So, with a final caress to Tasuki's forehead, making sure to run his fingers through those wild orange bangs one last time, he strolled out of the burial tomb and away from his dead lover. He could feel the bandits' stares, their surprise and confusion, but it was no longer important for him to be there. It was almost callous, he remembered thinking as he walked away, but there was nothing he could do to change his thoughts; they had a mind of their own.  
  


_ Grasping tightly onto a love you found your way to at last,  
You gently rest, sleeping.  
Laying a goodbye kiss on your closed eyelid,  
I left you behind in the garden of time._  


  
  
Lust wasn't something Chichiri had ever really thought about a lot before Tasuki; there had been a shy passion for Kouran, and a lot of guilt afterwards, but lust simply hadn't been part of his personality. Who needed lust when you had Taiitsu-kun? Who needed romance when you had a Miko to protect, and a kingdom to save, and a group of seishi with impossible love lives for examples?  
  
So, when he first felt the stirring for Tasuki, he blamed it on indigestion, or possibly Miaka's cooking. The fluttering didn't pass, though, but hovered rather insistently, especially when he was near the bandit. Just hearing Tasuki swear up a blue streak at his horse was enough to warm his heart. It was uncomfortable, this warmth, in both its newness and its intensity, so he discounted it.  
  
That one night in the training arena that Tasuki had kissed him, though, he knew there was something more than friendship, even more than indigestion going on. Tasuki's own newness, his own clumsiness at the task caught at his heart and _tugged_, and he knew, suddenly, that he was lost, and that he had to struggle like mad if he ever wanted to be found again. Suzaku, but he fought.  
  
And Tasuki respected his need for distance.  
  


_  
Love can't continue  
If it remains but a dream  
And if you lust after it, a hollow shell it becomes.  
But still...  
_

  
  
The first time they made love, it was only sex. It was also only an accident.  
  
"Isn't there a spare shirt in the bag that isn't so damn wet?" Tasuki asked, hanging the others up to dry in front of the fire.  
  
"I'm afraid not, no da," Chichiri responded. "Those torrential rains just soak everything all the way--"  
  
Tasuki tripped, and they fell together onto the floor, both half-naked. And, as they stared into each other's wide, surprised eyes, the matter was taken firmly out of their hands, and they didn't even think about it as their suddenly empty hands found wide patches of smooth, lightly scarred flesh to caress, and they lay in front of their drying shirts in the small room of the inn and surrendered to the voices they hadn't let speak before. Chichiri writhed against the floorboards at his back, and pressed into the chest on top of him; he didn't know what he was doing, but Tasuki seemed to inspire it. It was carnal, whatever it was, and wonderful, and they didn't mention it the next day.  
  
But Chichiri could always feel the kiss Tasuki gave him in the final moments of that night, searing his lips. It came, not in dreams, which are easily discounted, but in rare moments when he was eating dinner, or running the currycomb over the horse's sleek fur, or dipping water from a well. Only privately did he admit that he felt claimed, as if everyone could see the imprint Tasuki left on his mouth. It disturbed him, mainly because he felt so pleased. Chichiri did not wish to dishonor the memory of Kouran anymore than he already had by simply kissing the boy.  
  
But he couldn't forget.  
  


_  
If that's what you want, then chase after me.  
That kiss is a red tattoo,  
a tattoo that engraves a prophecy of destiny   
One look and I'll know  
There's a tattoo that hurts in the shape of your lips;  
You can't hide it.  
It's Moon Revenge..._  


  
  
Even after there was no reason to stay together, after they'd done all they could for their country and their god, that one night hung over them. Somehow, though they'd both been happier before, neither could go back to their old lives; how could one be a wandering monk after knowing the company of friends? How could one find joy in the life of a bandit after connecting so fully to a monk?  
  
They lived through the hard years, and then the easy ones. They fought, sure, but it was all friendly bickering, and underlain with a healthy dose of sexual tension. Despite this tension, despite the awkward moments in the rain, or under the stars, or hiking through the woods, they stayed together.  
  
Despite the episode where Tasuki fell in love with Miaka--  
  
_(Miaka, of all people!)_  
  
--Chichiri swallowed his jealousy and discomfort, because it was just a spell, and spells did that sort of thing to people. He knew, shortly thereafter, that if he didn't do something _soon_, he'd make a mess of things between them and kiss the life out of the other Seishi, and he desperately didn't want to ruin that something between them, because it was _so right_.  
  
Tasuki seemed quieter after that event, as if he didn't know what to say now that he'd messed up and chased Miaka like an idiot. He didn't leave Chichiri, though, and seemed a bit more resolved about something. Chichiri wondered what, but left it alone.  
  


  
  
_Auras drawn by each other, even when enveloped by darkness,  
cannot be snuffed out, and will not falter._  
  


  
  
Chichiri felt the wind sting his eyes slightly, and he brushed the tears away. He was resolved; Tasuki was dead, and although that could mean multiple things for the monk, he felt strangely limited in his options.  
  
He could still see Tasuki falling, surprise etched all over his face in the "o" of his mouth as he clawed the air for Chichiri, or a tree, or a rock--anything. It was a moment outside of time: that moment that Chichiri realized suddenly that Tasuki was falling--  
  
_(falling)_  
  
--and his arm was moving through the air, but slowly, so slowly, and a sudden sense of deja-vu hit the monk, and he dove for the edge just a moment too late.  
  
Just a moment.  
  
It struck him as ironic, to lose so much to falling. He lost his sense of self when he lost Hikou to the flood, and then when he fell in love with Tasuki, and again when Tasuki fell. He lost--something more precious than himself, somehow. Did he lose his soul? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that something was wrong with his heart; he had more invested than he'd let himself know.  
  
As his lover fell, all he knew is that he hadn't said it enough. How many times had he told Tasuki in the past week, two of his love? How many before? Not nearly enough; there would never be enough time. He could see their last night reflected in those hazel-brown eyes, so panicked during the fall. He could see his losses magnified, suddenly, for his viewing pleasure, and he knew--  
  
_ (Suzaku did he know)_  
  
--exactly how stupid he had been, to fear love from this man, to fear lust. He knew.  
  


  
_   
I can still see our parting so clearly, and it burns.  
Yet, I hope the next one fate draws me to could be you again._  
  


  
  
The second time they made love, it really was love, and much more planned. Not including that one rainy night in the inn, three months of shy-progressing-to-racy kisses transpired between the two; Chichiri felt singularly overwhelmed and blissful. When Tasuki touched him, it wasn't like Miaka's cooking at all; it was tender, and loving, and sweet, not horrible, black, and smoking. Tasuki was beautiful when breathless beneath him, and when he slanted his mouth just so above the other's lips, the breathless moan of desire that rang almost undid them both.  
  
After the second time came a third, and a fourth, and then they stopped counting, because it was just wonderful. They fell into each other, and Chichiri could only thank Suzaku for the gifts he had been blessed with, and sleep next to Tasuki, intertwined.  
  


  
_   
The deeper the love,  
the greedier it is.  
I even want to bind up every sigh you make. It's irrational,  
but still..._  
  


  
  
Chichiri winced in pain, and allowed himself to admit that the tears on his face weren't merely the fault of the wind. The question echoed in his mind:  
  
_ (what will you do now?)_  
  
what could he do, now that he was the last? What was left for him? He thought about asking Taiitsu-kun, but he didn't want to scare her. He would... he could...  
  
He could still feel Tasuki's lips on his, and the way Tasuki always fiddled with his bangs. He could feel their first time, the hard grain of the wood digging into his back. He could taste the sweat on his upper lip as the two seishi hiked through the mountains, back to visit the Mt. Lekkai bandits, smell the fresh, clear mountain air as it washed over them and made them both smile. Tasuki had smiled a lot after Chichiri first told him he loved him. Chichiri supposed he had been the same way, after Tasuki had stammered out that he felt the same. Strange, but relinquishing control to his lust had been the hardest part of their relationship; Chichiri wished he'd worked harder.  
  


  
_   
Climbing to the top of the whirlpool of light,  
Crimson memories are a poisonous tattoo  
a tattoo that shows the chaos of the future.  
_   


  
  
There had been a pain when they were together, like the indigestion of Miaka's food, but different, more relaxed. Chichiri could feel the pain now, but it was mutated, deformed somehow... more like Miaka's cooking, and less like the gentle ache that told him, yes, this was Tasuki, and no, it wasn't perfect, but damn close. He knew he should go and comfort Kouji and the bandits, fulfill his calling as a monk and all that, but when all was said and done--  
  
_ (he didn't feel as if he could speak, and really, what was to be done?)_  
  
--he knew they wouldn't be comforted by his mask, and that was all he could show them at the moment. If he lifted his fingers to his lips and closed his eyes, and wrapped his other arm around his chest, he could imagine Tasuki's lips were brushing against his again, in that first gentle, faltering kiss, and it was the beginning rather than the end, and they had five years before Tasuki stumbled on that rock on the mountain side and slipped--  
  
_ (not too far, but far enough)_  
  
--to his death. Chichiri didn't want to live in fantasies, though; he didn't want to be a madman. He'd seen people driven insane by loss before, and swore much earlier in life that he'd never burden himself upon anyone like that, that he'd never put anyone in the position to make sure he didn't harm anyone or himself.  
  
He wanted Tasuki back.  
  


  
  
_ When we are together,  
the tattoo hurts in the shape of your lips until we shatter.  
It'd be nice if you'd keep holding me.  
It's Moon Revenge..._  
  


  
  
In the end, it wasn't the lure of the wind, or a misstep, or even the irony that called him to the cliff. The two separate stages to his life were over, and the pull--  
  
_(unmistakable)_  
  
--was there, urging him. It would be so easy; he had fallen so many times, to just step over the edge. The wind sang in his ear, and he heard Tasuki's words in its voice, could see Tasuki's face in the brilliant mountain colors, could feel that there was a next life in their future, another chance to get it right, to be with Miaka and the other Seishi in Miaka's world. And then he stepped, and he could feel those strong arms around him, catching and cradling his soul, and he never even realized he was--  
  
_ (falling)_  
  
  


  
_   
If that's what you want, then chase after me.  
That kiss is a red tattoo,  
a tattoo that engraves a prophecy of destiny  
One look, and I'll know  
There's a tattoo that hurts in the shape of your lips;  
you can't hide it.  
It's Moon Revenge..._  
  


  
  
[Email Cassima!][2]

[Go back to the Index.][3]

   [1]: mailto:black_Cassima@hotmail.com
   [2]: mailto:black_cassima@hotmail.com
   [3]: index.htm



End file.
